Rystani Warrior 02 - The Dare

by Susan Kearney

  Zical was glad he could give her what she asked for. Without hesitation, he gave her more.

  Chapter Thirteen

  DORA THOUGHT IF lovemaking was a flavor, it would be peppered and ambrosial. If lovemaking was a color, it would be paprika red. If lovemaking was a scent, the fragrance would be pungent spice with a finely sharpened texture, both creamy and steamy. And if a sound, lovemaking was pure unadulterated sizzle.

  Every sense contributed to her spiraling emotions as Zical’s expertise seduced her with one level after another of skillful stimulation. She tried and failed to quantify and identify each element. But like a finely cooked meal, or a masterful opera, the end result was so much more than the sum of the components that analysis failed her.

  She morphed into a creature of sultry senses. Her pulse accelerated, her loins throbbed. Primitive mating urges took over, and she arched her spine, thrusting her breast deeper into Zical’s mouth.

  Exquisite impressions zinged from her nipple to her core as heat from his mouth streamed into her. His tongue laved the tip, feathering her with wondrous care, even as his teeth nipped her sensitive flesh and kept her from squirming.

  Every nerve ending in her body focused on her nipple, his tongue.

  “More,” she demanded.

  “Mmm. My pleasure,” he whispered, and his warm breath on her damp nipple caused rippling heat.

  Her other breast was jealous for his attentions. Sometime during his erotic kiss, he untied her sarong, leaving her open and so ready for him to enter her. But he had yet to move on to her other breast, and she finally understood what it was like to want him to keep doing exactly what he was doing, yet contradictorily to advance to the next tier.

  When her nipple grew so sensitive that a moan escaped her throat, Zical finally released her flesh, only to give the exact same treatment to her other breast. Knowing what he was about to do, anticipating the delicious pleasure, had her reaching for him once again.

  Again he grasped her wrists and placed her palms on the table’s edge. She recalled that Rystani custom dictated that only the males touched, not the females. Zical was all proud Rystani male. He obviously adored taking charge, setting this unbearably slow pace, and she vowed to let him.

  She didn’t want to remind him that she wasn’t born a Rystani woman. She didn’t want to remind him that she was anyone but the current woman of his desire. However, holding still while he laved her nipple when she longed to skim her palms along his back, brush her lips into the cords of his neck, twine her legs around his waist, and tug him into her took more self-control than she’d believed possible.

  Since actions were denied her, she attempted to urge him to go on. “You feel so good.”

  “Mmm.”

  He kept right on caressing her nipple with the tip of his tongue, paying little attention to her words. Dampness pooled between her thighs, and her synthari required touching. When she tried to slip her hand there, Zical released her breast.

  “Don’t move.” He placed her palms flat on the table.

  “Wh-what are you … thinking?”

  “That you need to hold still.”

  She lifted her palms. “No one could hold still with—”

  “Sure you can.” Again, he gently pressed her palms flat. Then he waited to see if she would comply.

  She clamped her fingers around the edge. “I’ll try.”

  He carefully brushed her hair back from her eyes and eyed her with satisfaction. “Much better.”

  “Easy for you to say.” He wasn’t the one clinging to a table, sitting there naked, ready to scream if he didn’t make love to her soon.

  He grinned. “I’m worth waiting for.”

  “Promises, promises.”

  He trailed his fingers over the delicate skin on the insides of her thighs. “You’ve been waiting a long time to make love.”

  “Too … long.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Needy. Impatient. Stars! What are we waiting for?”

  Hi eyes sparkled. “Don’t you want me to appreciate every bare inch of you?”

  “Not particularly.”

  His hands made sitting still almost impossible. “You’re being too careful, going too slow.”

  “I haven’t even given you any compliments on how beautiful you look.”

  He was teasing her with words, taunting her flesh with caresses, and her head swam. Sunlight from the window glinted on one side of his face, casting half in shadow and adding highlights to the muscular sheen on his chest. He’d never looked more desirable, and she yearned to touch and taste and do so much more than wait.

  She clung to the table, reminding herself not to touch him. She couldn’t close her thighs. Not with his hips keeping her open. Totally at his mercy, she didn’t know if she approved. Yet, the achiness in her kept swelling, spiraling.

  “I don’t need compliments. I need you to … to …”

  He cut off her words with another kiss. Eagerly she opened her mouth and then she felt him ever so delicately brush the curls of her synthari. A zing of pleasure caused moisture to pearl. She shimmied her hips in expectation of another caress, a deeper stroke.

  But as he thrust his tongue into her mouth, he inserted one finger inside her synthari, which hugged him with welcoming heat. She would have gasped at the sensational feel of him, but she had no breath, no words to explain how badly she ached to move her hips, to take in more of him.

  Slowly, he removed his finger, then thrust it back into her, causing a stir, an uproar of raspy delight. His thumb opened up her nether lips and found where she was most sensitive. His gentle touch was like an electric current that hummed, that tightened and clenched her muscles and caused a swirl of anticipation in her low belly. She’d never felt anything so delicious.

  He broke the kiss and eyed her, clearly quite pleased with his efforts. “So what do you think?”

  Think? His thumb caressed her center and she gasped. “How can I think when you … ah … oh-oh-oh.” She could feel pressure building, her muscles tensing. She was surely about to explode.

  “Good?” His tone cracked with raw heat, as if he knew exactly how she needed more.

  “Very … ah … good.”

  He stopped. “Just good?”

  He withdrew his hand and stared at her face as she opened her eyes in passion-dulled confusion. “Zical, please.”

  “Please what?”

  “Keep touching me.”

  “I will,” he promised, leaning into her, nipping her neck with tiny love bites, then lapping away the sting. “Trust me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then don’t rush me. Because feeling merely good isn’t enough.”

  “It’s not?” Amazed that his Rystani warrior way of lovemaking gave her no choice but to do things his way, she squirmed. “You have no idea how … difficult … it is to sit here and not scream with the need you’re creating.”

  “Seems to me you’ve recovered.”

  She had. Just a little. While they’d been conversing some of the tension had eased. No longer feeling as if she were on the edge of combustion, she nevertheless yearned to proceed, to lose herself in the delicious haze of pleasure that Zical could create. She adored how he made her feel cherished and womanly, and she was glad they’d taken this time for themselves, glad he enjoyed being with her. Most of all, she was thrilled that Zical was the first man she’d be intimate with because she cared so much about him. To her he’d become more than a friend, he’d become … special. She couldn’t think about him without warm happiness urging her on. Tessa had been right when she said that making love was special with the emotions involved. Dora admired this brave man who bore the burden of command with such honor and stoicism. Now, he’d gone out of his way to please and make the occasion special. He couldn’t possibly stop before taking her completely, not after he’d agreed to make love. So when he leaned down and captured her breast in his mouth, she released a sigh of pleasure and relaxed.

&
nbsp; Not that she could relax for long. His mouth summoned every bit of the tension she’d thought had dissipated, stretching her taut, stoking her with an expertise that caused the embers he’d kindled to leap into dancing sparks that singed and burned and placed her on the edge of a deep chasm all over again.

  This time when his clever fingers dipped into her synthari, she barely noticed that instead of one finger, he’d inserted two. But the extra thickness pleased her. He pleased her. She shifted her hips forward, parted her legs wider, welcoming every intimacy and fully believing that even if she died tomorrow, she’d never regret this night with Zical.

  While she didn’t understand how her heart could beat so hard when she was holding perfectly still, or how moisture broke out in a sheen on her skin while she did nothing but accept his every caress, she understood that comprehension wasn’t required for enjoyment.

  She’d built her body for lovemaking, and like she was a finely tuned starship, Zical had taken over as the pilot in charge. Left to her own inclinations, Dora would have preferred being more than a passenger along for the ride, but she was not about to question his methods. Especially when he felt so damn good.

  But this lovemaking wasn’t just about erotic sensations. She knew deep in her heart that she would respond like this only with Zical. Her emotions were all there—joy, acceptance, and a deep fondness for this man that she wanted very much to explore.

  While she yearned to kiss him and trace her hands over all that savage-looking male flesh, she also relished submitting to his basic demands. The more he asked, the more she wanted to give.

  So even as she suffered the sweet torments of his tongue on her breasts, she knew there was no place she’d rather be than right here, right now. She’d created this body for him to enjoy, for them to enjoy, and there was no part of her flesh he couldn’t explore. Nothing she would deny him.

  “Zical?”

  “Mmm?”

  She liked being at his mercy. She suspected she’d also enjoy him being at hers. But the plain, simple truth was that she liked Zical, always had, always would. She enjoyed his company period. Sharing her body with him was an extra bonus, a delight that made her happy, that made the physical pleasure almost secondary.

  “Tell me … what would please you. And I’ll do it.”

  He released her breast and trailed kisses up her neck. “You are to enjoy yourself.”

  “I would enjoy touching you, too.”

  “Next time.”

  “There’ll be a next time?”

  “We have tonight. All night,” he murmured. “For your first time, I want you to think about only the pleasure I can give you.”

  “Okay.”

  He lifted her breasts until she overflowed his hands then flicked the nipples with his thumbs, creating a sizzle that caused her hips to squirm. “You like this?”

  “Yes.”

  He plucked her nipples between thumb and pointer finger. “And this?”

  “Yes … but …”

  He plucked them again, causing the throbbing between her thighs to increase tenfold. “But?”

  She licked her lip, uneasy. “I can’t decide if … ah . . ah …”

  “If what?” He laved away the smarting with his tongue.

  “If this is pain or pleasure.”

  “You want me to stop?”

  “No.”

  She’d raised her voice, and he chuckled, wickedly tweaking her nipples again. “There’s a fine line between pleasure and pain.”

  “I feel so wanton. All achy … empty.”

  “Good?”

  “Better than good,” she gasped. “Awesome. Wild. On the edge …”

  “Perfect.” The satisfaction in his tone made her hunger for more of his loving. Finally, he stepped back and removed his loin cloth. His tavis jutted proudly, thick and hard and ready.

  She was too educated to wonder if he would fit. Her synthari would stretch to accommodate him. She was so damp with her own moisture, she was certain he was going to slide his tavis inside her with ease. Instead he held his tavis at the thick base and rubbed the tip over her parted lips. She hadn’t known anything could be so hard and soft at the same time or feel so absolutely awesome. The shock of his flesh rubbing her so intimately almost rocked her off the table.

  His hand on her thigh steadied her. Her muscles were gathering, tightening, like a crossbow drawn too tight and about to snap. Her breath came in great gulps and then … the most marvelous sensations burst through her, a series of orgasms so intense, so hard, that a scream ripped from her throat. It kept on and on, like one of those fireworks that shot higher and higher as it exploded again and again. All the while, he kept rubbing her, milking her body of gasp after gasp of pure pleasure.

  She had no idea exactly when the orgasms ceased, but eventually she realized he’d exchanged his fingers with his tavis inside her and held perfectly still allowing her body to become accustomed to him. Without hesitation, welcoming his fullness, she wrapped her legs around his hips. She grabbed his neck for extra support. His hands clenched her bottom and then he pulled back his hips, thrust back into her. Hard.

  “Yes.” She groaned into his ear, a new tension already building. This time she didn’t hold back. Trusting him not to drop her, trusting him to instinctively know what she wanted, she simply held on. She was slick, ready. His angle of insertion and extraction caused the most lovely friction exactly where she needed it most.

  His hands clenched her bottom. His breath blew raggedly by her ear, fanning her neck, and her breasts rubbed against his chest, the sensitive tips so tender, so connected to her that when she exploded once again, her muscles fired, then collapsed utterly spent. If not for Zical’s strong hands around her, she would have fallen.

  Still her Rystani warrior was not done. His stamina amazed her, worried her that she might not be his match. But then he braced her spine against the cool wall. Suddenly, magically, she was tensing all over again. The cool hardness of the wall contrasting with the heat of him against her chest, hips, and thighs not only revived her spinning senses but oddly cooled her down enough to heat up again.

  She lost count of the orgasms. One blended into another until she lost all sense of self. She no longer knew where her body began and his ended. To her they were one. When he finally spasmed into her, the surge of him triggered a flood of feelings. Joy. Contentment. Satiation. An overwhelming need to hold him close and never let go.

  Dora never had much recollection of Zical’s tying her sarong around her hips, his donning his loincloth before he carried her from the conference room to the bathing room in his quarters. He’d lowered her to her feet and Dora didn’t come back to herself until cool water rained down on both of them. Stunned by the experience, she gave up trying to find the right words.

  Instead, she placed her arms around him, tilted back her head, and smiled. “Thank you.”

  He chuckled and soaped up a soft cloth, his grin teasing. “Dora, I’m not done with you yet.”

  KIREK’S NEW FRIENDS didn’t try to sneak past carnival security, so neither did he, although he could have easily slipped past the machines guarding the front entrance. While he didn’t want to waste his limited credits, he also didn’t wish to attract the attention of Lew and his peers, preferring to appear as if he were one of them.

  So far, Kirek had mostly kept his mouth shut and listened. He’d picked up a surprising amount of information during their morning walk through the town to the city center. The city had very different sections, those of wealth, with Risorians, who according to his new friends sat around improving their spiritual nature in order to attain high positions in the afterlife. And those sections with Selgrens, poor workers who didn’t believe in any god and spent their free time in pleasurable pursuits.

  Apparently Selgrens and Risorians didn’t mix socially. City center was Selgren territory, and the surrounding parks and nature trails were for those of a more spiritual nature, those who were into improving their bodie
s through ritual exercises and cleansing their mind with music.

  Kirek had expected the carnival to be a roving group of entertainers like the acrobats, jugglers, and trained animals his parents had taken him to see on Mystique. But this carnival occupied a permanent location in Baniken’s city center.

  The pink rock exterior of the main building matched the other nearby structures. Yet Kirek heard the boys talking about how the Risorians, the orthodox faction of deeply religious Kwadii, wanted to close the carnival down, but so far the Selgrens had mustered enough popular support to keep the entertainment centers open.

  “Son of a Kinatti sand worm,” Lew cursed, grabbing Kirek by the arm and tugging him through the large crowd of adults at the entrance. “If you stand there dawdling, we’ll never reach the games.”

  “Games?” To Kirek the carnival seemed like a haven for every kind of vice he’d ever heard about, and many he hadn’t. Specific areas catered to sexual needs, and although his curiosity at the profundity of variations spiked, his parents would not have approved of him exploring those sections where one could purchase everything from prostitution to erotic fantasies to sexual scenarios for those with more unusual tastes. Although Kirek’s IQ was off the scale, his parents lovingly protected him as they would have any Rystani child. While he had the curiosity of an adult, his sexual inclinations were dictated by the biology of a four-year-old child. So he didn’t mind exploring the game section.

  “Last time I was here, I won twenty credits on Galactic War Five.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, we splurged on holovids for a week,” Lew bragged. “Sucked down breen burgers and all the vips we could drink.”

  “Awesome.”

  With enthusiasm Lew whirled Kirek around a corner and through a double set of doors into a vast, dark room with hundreds of holographic games, seemingly all making noise at once. Kirek’s first instinct was to clap his hands over his ears to muffle the din. But that wouldn’t have been acceptable, and he needed to fit in with these Kwadii to avoid suspicion.